


The Perfect Occupation

by sevenfists



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Getting Together, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-23 17:12:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19705831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenfists/pseuds/sevenfists
Summary: Geno kissed him at the party Sid held at his house after the season ended: one night to celebrate before they dove into the playoffs.





	The Perfect Occupation

He had breakfast with Geno the morning after they got kicked out of the playoffs. Not at a diner, which was what Sid initially envisioned when Geno texted him about it—late, late, the middle of the night after that final game. Like Geno had been sure Sid was still lying awake, too. He was, and his eyes were dry and aching in the morning when he drove to Geno’s house. He was too tired to be nervous, but then it hit him all at once when Geno opened the door in his glasses and sweatpants, a stretched-out white T-shirt. Sid’s heart gave a hard throb and then started thudding rapidly. They were really doing this.

“Hi, Sid,” Geno said. He looked—haggard, was the word that came to mind. He hadn’t shaved yet, and the sight of his patchy beard made Sid’s heart do something else entirely new and unexpected. Geno offered a tired smile and shuffled out of the way to let Sid into the house.

They sat at the kitchen table to eat. Geno had made omelets and oatmeal and sliced up half a cantaloupe: hockey player food, even though the season was over now. Sid zoned out staring at the pink and red tulips in a vase at the center of the table. He had kind of forgotten why he had even come over when Geno put his fork down, cleared his throat, and said, “You, uh. Maybe you come to Miami with me?”

“I’m going to LA,” Sid said, and then his brain caught up with his mouth, and he said, “Miami?”

Geno shrugged and looked away, faking casual—faking, because Sid knew him, and knew what it meant when Geno wouldn’t make eye contact. “You don’t like. Okay, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s just—I always go to LA,” Sid said. Fuck, he needed at least another five hours of sleep before he would be ready to navigate this conversation. “You could come with me. For a week or so. Or as long as you want. And then go to Miami after.”

“You don’t like Miami,” Geno said, looking at Sid again, at least.

Miami was full of Russians, was the problem. Geno knew every Russian in the city, from what Sid could gather, and he didn’t want to spend the whole time competing for Geno’s attention with his eight hundred close personal friends who all spoke his native language. Sid couldn’t win there. LA would be better. More private.

“Just used to my routine,” Sid said, which was also true.

Geno snorted, which meant, you don’t fucking say.

“There’s good sushi in LA,” Sid said. “We can go to Nobu.” Cajoling. But he really wanted Geno to come. They had agreed to leave it alone until after the playoffs, and the playoffs were over now. Thanks to the fucking _Caps_ , which was insult added to injury. On the upside, he and Geno were finally going to do whatever it was they were going to do.

“Hmm, one week,” Geno said. He smiled at Sid from across the table, and then took off his glasses to rub his eyes, muttering something to himself in Russian. He looked worn thin, the way Sid felt, after three intense years of hockey and the hard push for a threepeat. At least the long summer would give them all a chance to relax and rest up. 

Sid decided he wouldn’t ask Geno to do a thing in LA except sleep in and eat sushi. If he wanted to play tennis or golf or go to the batting cages, great, but Sid wouldn’t push him. He didn’t want Geno to regret going with him.

“Lots of sushi,” he said. “We can go to the beach. We can go to the Louis Vuitton store.”

Geno grinned. “You pay? You buy for me?”

“I’ll think about it,” Sid said.

\+ + +

Geno kissed him at the party Sid held at his house after the season ended: one night to celebrate before they dove into the playoffs. The house was full of people, all the guys and their significant others, an assortment of friends, and Phil’s dog, who he claimed got lonely if he left her at home. Sid ate a ton of sliders and made the rounds, played a hand of poker, got sucked into a long conversation with Dumo about wine, and eventually realized he hadn’t seen Geno in a while. Where was Geno?

He went upstairs. Geno was in Sid’s study, looking at the pictures on the bookcase. At the picture of the two of them with the Cup, after they won in 2016—the one Geno had posted on Instagram. Sid had gotten it framed. It was a nice picture. 

“You get lost in here?” Sid asked.

Geno looked up and turned around and smiled at him. “No. It’s too hot, maybe I drink too much. You know.”

“You needed a break.” Sid sat down on the big leather couch near the door, where he sometimes read and sometimes took naps. Geno joined him, sitting right at Sid’s side instead of all the way at the other end of the couch, the way a buddy would. His knee knocked against Sid’s as he slouched into the cushions. 

Sid’s breath hitched. Geno had been flirting with him all season, ever since Sid and his girlfriend broke up right before training camp. Little touches and looks, standing too close to be friendly, asking him to dinner all the time on road trips. Hanging out at Sid’s stall after practices and games instead of immediately peacing out to the showers the way he usually did, even though it meant he got roped into doing press way more often.

Geno had always liked him and wanted to spend time with him, and it had always made Sid feel special, because Geno didn’t make an effort with most people. But Geno wanting to fuck him, or whatever was going on, was a whole new level of Geno’s attention, and kind of overwhelming. Sid ignored it for a while, because he was still licking his wounds from the breakup, and he didn’t really think Geno was serious anyway. But Geno didn’t let up. He gave Sid a Christmas present, a thumb drive filled with a bunch of Russian pop and rap music that Sid surprised himself by listening to all the time. He invited Sid over for dinner a lot when they were in town, and most of the time Sid took him up on it, and there was always wine and flowers and good Russian food that Geno ordered from a local restaurant. 

Without really meaning to, he started to take Geno seriously. The reasons why it was a bad idea were numerous and obvious. But after he processed all of that, he started thinking about the reasons why it might be a good idea. How much he trusted Geno. How soft-hearted Geno was, and loyal, and whip-smart. How he always listened to Sid when it mattered and not at all the rest of the time. How much they both wanted children, and maybe that was a ridiculous thing to consider when they hadn’t even kissed, but Sid had known the guy for more than a decade and only liked him more as time went on. Petulant, hot-headed, cagey, stubborn, and the bravest and brightest person Sid knew. The kind of person you made a life with and never let go.

Geno was watching him. Sid wondered what his expression said. Geno could probably read him pretty well after all these years. Sid pressed his knee against Geno’s, watching him right back: his sleepy eyes, his fat bottom lip.

“Why you up here?” Geno asked. He turned and lifted one big hand to cup the back of Sid’s neck. A gesture that could be friendly, but wasn’t. “You bad host.”

“The guys are fine,” Sid said. Geno was so close, and the eye contact had moved well beyond friendly. Sid’s heart raced. He finally did what they’d been building up to for the past six months and put his hand on Geno’s thigh, and said, “I’d rather hang out with you.”

He watched it hit Geno and sink in: the slight widening of his eyes, his hand tightening on Sid’s neck. His tongue darted out to nervously wet his bottom lip. “Sid—”

“Put up or shut up,” Sid said, and Geno laughed, and was still laughing when he leaned in.

They agreed to wait until after the playoffs were over to have any conversations or make any decisions: Sid’s idea, but Geno agreed without too much grumbling. “You big distract,” he said, shrugging, at which point Sid kicked the study door closed and treated himself to five minutes of sitting snugged in Geno’s lap, kissing his mouth and his neck and listening to him sigh. He might not kiss Geno again until June.

Eventually they heard voices in the hall and disentangled themselves to cool down a little. Sid said, real casual, “Don’t head back to Moscow as soon as the playoffs are over. We could hang out a little.”

“Hang out,” Geno repeated, his eyebrows raised mockingly. Sid lazily smacked Geno’s chest with the back of his hand. Geno laughed and caught Sid’s hand and held it to his heart. “Okay, yes. We hang out.”

\+ + +

Sid didn’t actually own a place in LA. He knew some of the guys on the Kings and would stay at one of their places if they had already left town, or rent a condo if that didn’t work out. This year he had rented a place in Santa Monica a few blocks from the beach, where he had stayed a couple of years ago. It had a private courtyard with a garden, and a rooftop patio with a grill and some lounge chairs, perfect for sitting around after dinner with a six-pack. And three bedrooms, so they could avoid any awkwardness about having to share.

Their plane landed at LAX in the evening, after a late afternoon flight with a layover in Denver. Geno fell asleep in the rental car, and Sid took advantage of the creeping freeway traffic to study the soft lines of Geno’s face and the faint mustache stubble that lingered after he had shaved his playoff beard. He’d always found Geno attractive, even when they first met as awkward teenagers. Well, Geno hadn’t been a teenager, but close enough. It was different now, though, having given himself permission to think of Geno that way. Looking at Geno’s mouth invariably sent him into a downward spiral. Big distract.

Geno woke with a grunt when Sid pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine. He sat up, wiping at the corners of his mouth. “We here?”

“Yeah, bud.” Sid hesitated for a moment, and then thought, fuck it, and reached over to squeeze Geno’s shoulder. “Need me to carry you upstairs?”

“Yes, carry me. Brush my teeth.” In the dark, Geno leaned across the parking brake and kissed Sid’s cheek.

They went inside and took their bags upstairs, where the bedrooms were. Sid dropped his bag at the top of the stairs and went around to take stock of the place and lock up. When he went back upstairs, the lights were on in one of the bedrooms, and Geno was face-down on the bed, fully dressed except for his shoes. His bag was unzipped on the floor, but it didn’t look like he had taken anything out of it.

Sid rapped on the doorframe. “G? You asleep?”

“No,” Geno said. He made kind of a slurping noise and rolled onto his side and squinted at Sid. He had definitely been asleep. “You tired?”

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna pass out.” It was bedtime in Pittsburgh, and he was wiped out from the time difference and the long flight. He didn’t feel like dragging himself out to dinner just so he could say he hadn’t gone to bed at 9PM like an old person.

“Sleep here,” Geno said. He sat up and started pushing the decorative pillows onto the floor and turning down the blankets. “With me.”

“Okay,” Sid said, watching Geno not look at him, immediately warm inside from the thought of curling up with Geno in the soft sheets and spending all night listening to the noises Geno made in his sleep. Snoring, probably, if Talbo hadn’t been lying about that.

They took turns at the sink in the en suite, washing up and brushing their teeth. Watching Geno stand at the toilet to piss filled Sid with an inexplicable tenderness. There was so much intimacy in seeing him shake off and tuck his soft dick back into his sweatpants. It wasn’t like pissing at a urinal, because they were in a private home and about to get in bed together and sleep. Sid was being allowed to enter the hidden parts of Geno’s life.

Geno stripped down to his underwear before they got in bed, and so Sid decided to do the same, even though he usually slept naked. He didn’t want to push too far. Geno turned off the lamp on the nightstand, and Sid climbed in beside him and tucked the blankets into place, and then, when Geno didn’t move, shifted tentatively closer.

“Hi, Sid,” Geno said quietly. His feet brushed against Sid’s beneath the covers.

“Hi.” Sid shifted again and found the warm bulk of Geno’s body, his shoulder and hip. Geno rolled toward him, and then they were clinging to each other, wrapped up tight, Sid’s face tucked in the crook of Geno’s neck, his arms around Geno’s back, holding Geno as close as he could. 

Geno’s hands cupped Sid’s shoulder blades. “What we do tomorrow?”

“Whatever you want. Go to the aquarium. Go to Rodeo Drive. Stay here and sleep.” Sid kissed Geno’s throat. They had kissed once. They hadn’t been on a single date. Sid was ready to marry him, pretty much.

“Sleep,” Geno said immediately. “Sleep late. Then we go get breakfast. Then nap. Then maybe beach.”

Sid laughed. “Okay, G. Whatever you want.” He lifted his head, seeking Geno’s mouth, and found it. They exchanged a few slow kisses, tangled together, close in each other’s arms, until Geno sighed with contentment and pulled away to sleep.

\+ + +

Geno woke up when Sid got out of bed in the morning, groaned, turned over, and pulled the pillow over his head. Sid smiled and left him there and went to Whole Foods to stock the kitchen. He knew some of what Geno liked and otherwise bought what he wanted. He was going to be the one doing all the cooking anyway.

He heard the shower running when he got back, and Geno came downstairs a few minutes later, dressed for the day. Sid had put all the groceries away and was prepping a juice blend, and Geno came over and leaned against him and pressed a kiss to his temple. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Sid said, turning to kiss Geno’s mouth, giddy with how new and great all of this was, how familiar Geno was while also being unfamiliar in a lot of ways. Sid looked forward to learning every new secret thing about him. He had already learned that Geno liked to steal the blankets, and that he did snore, but he would stop if you poked him until he turned over onto his side.

“Thanks for buy groceries,” Geno said, patting Sid’s butt. It was a totally normal thing to say, but Sid was so used to Geno’s fond bullying that hearing him say something so mundane and sincere put a lump in Sid’s throat. That was relationship talk, the kind of thing you said to smooth over everyday irritations and keep everyone feeling appreciated and happy. Like Geno was thinking about the long run, too.

Geno was on his phone as they ate, but he sat with his feet on top of Sid’s beneath the table, and he glanced up every minute or two to give Sid a small, sweet smile. Sid knew the feeling. He had reached over several times in the night to touch whatever part of Geno’s body was most readily available, to remind himself that this was real and Geno had really flown across the country to spend time with him.

So far all of the signs were positive. But they had said they would talk about it, and Sid needed to know. The next time Geno glanced up, Sid said, “What happens after you leave here?”

“Go to Miami,” Geno said, and then his expression shifted, and he put his phone down. “Maybe you go with me.”

Sid swallowed. “And then you’re going back to Moscow.”

“Yes, it’s World Cup,” Geno said. He pressed down on Sid’s feet. “Maybe you go with me.”

“I was thinking about spending some time in Europe this summer,” Sid said, which wasn’t even a lie. “I want to go to Davos. Where they hold the Spengler Cup, you know?”

Geno grinned. “Metallurg is win Spengler Cup in 2005. I don’t play, though.”

“Oh, you—because you were at World Juniors?” 

“Yes, in Vancouver,” Geno confirmed. He scoffed. “We lose to Canada. _Again_.”

“You played well, though,” Sid said loyally. “I watched that game.” Geno had been the tournament MVP, he was pretty sure. That was Sid’s first season with the Penguins, but he had followed the tournament as much as he could, watched the games he could catch; watched Malkin, thought about playing with Malkin. Spent that whole season waiting for Malkin, and then he finally arrived and became Geno. And then became G, and then turned into this guy sitting across from him at the breakfast table, who meant more to Sid than he knew how to say.

Geno was watching him with that same small smile, more in his eyes than his mouth. “You go to Davos, then come to Moscow, okay? It’s fun. We watch soccer, go skate, eat good food.”

“What if this doesn’t work out,” Sid said. “What if you get sick of me?”

Geno stuffed an entire strawberry in his mouth, stem and all, which was one of his weirder habits. He chewed for a moment, and then reached in to extract the stem and cap. “I don’t.”

“What if I get sick of you?”

Sid was teasing—he couldn’t imagine ever getting tired of Geno—but Geno said, very seriously, “I hope you don’t,” and Sid had to get up and go around the table to kiss him.

“So, we’re doing this?” he said when he pulled back, and then touched Geno’s mouth, which looked like it needed to be kissed again.

“Yes,” Geno said. His lip moved under Sid’s thumb. “I think yes.”

“Okay,” Sid said. Geno’s brown eyes held everything: a good fifty years or more, if they were lucky, and the chance to love each other for every one of those days. Sid followed through on his impulse and stooped again to kiss Geno’s mouth.

\+ + +

Sid made sandwiches for lunch and they went up to the roof to eat. The noontime sun was fierce overhead, but there was a shade sail strung above the picnic table that cut down on the heat and glare. Geno sat sideways on the bench and kicked off his slides to extend his bare feet beyond the edge of the sail, into the bright sun. His toes were long, knobbly, hairy, and blindingly white.

“You’re gonna burn,” Sid said. He still remembered the sunburn Geno had gotten on a road trip to Florida one year. 

Geno smirked at him and reached into the tote bag he’d brought upstairs, and produced a small orange tube of sunblock. He shook it at Sid menacingly. “No, you see? I don’t burn. I get tan, look good.”

“You already look good,” Sid said, partly because it was true and partly because he wanted to see how Geno would react.

Geno pushed his sunglasses onto the top of his head and gave Sid a look with his chin tucked down and his eyebrows raised. “Oh, you like?”

Sid thought about yanking his chain, but that didn’t feel right, now. It wasn’t that he didn’t think he could tease Geno anymore. There would still be room in their relationship for that type of playfulness. But he was thinking again about Geno thanking him for the groceries, making that space for them to interact with each other in new ways. He looked Geno over, really considering him, his camo-print cut-offs and fitted black T-shirt, the black cord of his necklace showing above the collar. He was due for a haircut and his hair was wavy at the front where he kept it longer to hide how it was thinning. He looked great, even his dumb smirk, like he knew exactly what Sid was thinking.

“I’m not crazy about the shorts,” Sid said. “But everything else is top notch.”

Sid rarely got the pleasure of seeing Geno without any clue what to say. Geno gaped at him for a moment, and then took a huge bite of his sandwich so he wouldn’t have to talk. Sid suppressed a smile and turned his attention to his own meal. Crosby 1, Malkin 0.

After they finished eating, Sid took the plates downstairs to the kitchen and grabbed a couple more bottles of water. When he went back up to the roof, Geno had taken off his shirt and was face-down on one of the lounge chairs in the sun.

Sid put the water down and watched Geno for a moment. He had his arms folded beneath his head, and the position made his lats and shoulders look great. Sid’s eyes tracked down the curve of Geno’s spine to the dip of his lower back and the fat swell of his ass. They were going to have sex at some point, although Sid didn’t know when, or who was going to initiate it. Maybe it was too soon. He was ready, though.

Geno had left the tube of sunblock on the picnic table. Sid picked it up and joined Geno in the sunshine, sitting on the sliver of lounge chair beside Geno’s knees. The chair creaked as he sat down, and Geno made a querying noise, maybe not totally awake.

“You lotion up already?” Sid asked. He slid his hand down Geno’s bare back, sun-warmed. His skin was dry and smooth.

Geno shifted around to get his elbows underneath him. He craned his neck to look back at Sid. “No, I can’t reach.”

“I’ll do it,” Sid said, both because he didn’t want to hear Geno complaining about his sunburn for the rest of the week and because he wanted an excuse to get his hands on Geno. He probably looked way too eager. But it wasn’t like Geno didn’t know Sid wanted him.

“Okay,” Geno said, with none of the ribbing Sid expected, and settled back onto the lounger.

Sid unscrewed the cap on the tube and upended it over Geno’s back. The sunblock drizzled out smoothly, more liquid than usual from the heat. Sid squeezed a line up one side of Geno’s back and down the other in sort of a horseshoe shape. Geno didn’t flinch, which was how Sid knew for sure the sunblock was warm. Geno was usually a huge baby about textures and temperatures: nothing too cold, too hot, or too rough. He didn’t like tags in shirts, either.

Sid propped the tube upright against Geno’s hip so it wouldn’t leak and smeared his right hand up Geno’s back. Geno did flinch then, just a little, but he didn’t tell Sid to stop. Ticklish, maybe. Sid pressed firmly as he slid his palm beside Geno’s backbone, using the heel of his hand to dig in, like a sports massage. 

Geno’s muscles were relaxed and yielding beneath Sid’s touch. Sid knew a fair bit about anatomy after so many years of being worked on by trainers, and he liked to see how Geno fit together and learn his very particular shape. His traps looked lopsided from the way he had his arms folded. There was a mole right at the base of his neck, half-covered by the clasps of his necklaces. Sid nudged them out of the way with his fingertips and rubbed over the mole curiously, feeling how it was slightly raised from the skin.

Geno grunted. “Do other side.”

Sid obediently turned and dragged his hand down the other side of Geno’s spine, stopping right above the waistband of his shorts. Sid was enjoying himself, but this wasn’t really an efficient way to apply sunblock. He got up and shifted to straddle Geno’s hips so he could use both hands. The sunblock was greasier than the type Sid used and needed a lot of rubbing to work it into the skin. Sid didn’t mind the effort. Geno looked great and felt great under Sid’s hands, the bunched muscles of his shoulders and the wonderful slight softness at his hips. It wasn’t really like a sports massage at all.

“Let me do your legs,” he said after a while, when the sunblock was thoroughly rubbed in and Sid couldn’t pretend he was doing anything other than feeling up Geno’s back. “Unless you want a weird sunburn.”

Geno stirred. “No. Okay, you do.”

Like he was doing Sid a big favor. Sid smiled at the back of Geno’s head, helplessly fond. He still remembered when Geno had first joined the team and pointed and said “Please” whenever he wanted something. It never really meant ‘please’; it meant ‘give that to me’ or ‘what makes you think I don’t want some of that pizza.’ Not much had changed.

Sid shifted to sit on the lounger at Geno’s feet. Geno’s lower legs were long and skinny, and covered in hair, which made applying the sunblock more of a challenge. Sid rubbed it in thoroughly and moved down to Geno’s feet, holding Geno’s ankle in one hand to keep him from kicking out and coating the sole of his foot with the other. 

Geno’s foot flexed as Sid’s thumb slid over his instep. “Sid!”

“Tickles?” Sid asked, pausing. But Geno shook his head, and Sid finished that foot and then did the other one.

Then he was done. He had no reason to keep touching Geno, but he wasn’t ready to stop. Maybe he could tempt Geno into going downstairs with him to get in bed, or even fucking right here, out in the open. The lounger was probably sturdy enough, and Sid had been waiting for a month, since the night of his party, and jerking off extensively while thinking about Geno. Sid was initiating. The time was now. He didn’t want to wait.

He slid one hand up the length of Geno’s calf until his fingertips pushed beneath the leg of Geno’s shorts. “Maybe you should take these off, if you want to lie out.”

Geno went up onto his elbows again and squinted back at Sid. Then he glanced up, craning his head around. Sid could guess what he was thinking. The roof’s high walls kept anyone on the street from looking up, and there weren’t any buildings nearby that were tall enough to have a good sightline. If Geno got naked, nobody could see. Well, maybe someone with a drone.

“Okay, help me,” Geno said, and wriggled around to get both hands beneath him—to start taking off his shorts, Sid realized a few moments later, with a jolt of pleased anticipation, as Geno lifted his hips and began pushing the shorts down.

Sid helped by grabbing the legs and tugging. He worked the shorts down over Geno’s feet. Underneath, Geno wore snug, baby blue briefs, and Sid felt a little bit light-headed as he drew the elastic waistband down over the curve of Geno’s ass.

“God,” he whispered, abandoning the undressing effort to skim his hand lightly over Geno’s bare cheeks. Obviously he knew Geno had a great ass, but now he got to _touch_ it, which was way better than sneaking furtive glimpses in the showers. Geno arched his lower back, lifting his hips into Sid’s hand, and Sid swore and dragged the briefs the rest of the way down Geno’s legs.

Geno folded his arms beneath his head again. He peeked back at Sid with one eye. “You put lotion, so I don’t burn.”

“Okay. Yeah.” Sid fumbled for the sunblock. He squeezed out a big handful and rubbed his palms together, spreading it. The lounge chair was too small for this, but Sid found room to straddle Geno’s legs and smear his hands over the backs of Geno’s soft bare thighs. Long, pale, thick with muscle at the top, because even Geno’s hatred for leg workouts hadn’t prevented hockey from shaping his body. The absolute best thighs topped by the best ass, and Sid liked a good ass as much as the next guy, which was to say, he was extremely fucking happy about getting to touch Geno’s.

In the hot sun, Sid’s back and upper lip prickled with sweat. He dragged his thumbs horizontally across Geno’s thighs right below the ass. His dick was filling, and who could blame him? There was no way he deserved to get this lucky, but here he was, with Geno all spread out and languid, happy for Sid to touch him. Here in LA to be with Sid, because Sid had asked him to come.

“Sid?” Geno said, looking back at him again, his thighs tensing beneath Sid’s hands.

“Just looking,” Sid said. “Fuck, you look so good,” and Geno settled, the corner of his eye creasing with a hidden smile. Sid poured a runny line of sunblock directly onto Geno’s ass, watching how it trickled down the sides of his hips and into the cleft between his cheeks, down toward his balls. His skin would be sweaty and slick and greasy, and thinking about how it would feel finally prompted Sid to put one hand on each cheek and squeeze.

Geno groaned, or sighed, or kind of both at once. It was an encouraging sound. Sid sucked his lower lip into his mouth as he massaged Geno’s ass, kneading the soft flesh and watching his fingertips sink in. Nothing he had done up to this point was overtly sexual, but touching Geno’s ass like this definitely was. Geno wasn’t stopping him or saying anything about how they should move into the shade or go downstairs, even as Sid slowed his hands and skimmed them over Geno’s ass in what could only be interpreted as a caress. He wondered what Geno would let him get away with.

He drizzled some more sunblock onto Geno’s ass, getting everything really slick, and dragged his fingers down Geno’s cleft, tracing the line. Geno sucked in a breath and parted his thighs—not much, because he didn’t have much room, with Sid’s knees bracketing his legs. But enough to send a message.

“Oh yeah?” Sid said, his pulse picking up. Geno had been pretty passive so far, but here was a clear sign that he liked it, that maybe he was turned on. Sid dipped his greasy fingers down to rub at Geno’s balls and then stroke behind them, lightly at first and then with more pressure as Geno pushed into the touch. He knew Geno had slept with guys, but he didn’t have a clue what Geno liked or didn’t like in bed; but there was only one way to find out. He slid his thumb along Geno’s slick perineum and rubbed over Geno’s hole.

Geno’s back expanded as he inhaled. Sid waited, keeping his thumb pressed there, hoping. After a moment, Geno shifted and reached back to grab one cheek and pull himself open.

Heat rolled through Sid in a molten wave, from both the visual and the implications. If Geno liked having his ass played with, Sid was going to be the happiest guy on earth. He took his hand away for a moment so he could look at the hidden tight pink of Geno’s hole, God, all smeared with sunblock, which didn’t really look much like come but made Sid think of it anyway: coming on Geno’s ass, or right on his hole. 

“Sid,” Geno said, wiggling his hips impatiently.

Sid grinned, just—thrilled by all of this, Geno’s evident desire, how good he looked, how soft and tender his hole felt when Sid stroked him again, circling his thumb. It would be so easy to push a finger into Geno’s ass, but sunblock seemed like a bad idea as lube. Too full of ingredients Sid couldn’t pronounce. Some other time.

“You look so good,” he said quietly. He rubbed around and around Geno’s hole, squeezing Geno’s upper thigh with his free hand, feeling like he had just cracked open a bag of candy and didn’t have to share with anyone. “You want to, uh—you could turn over and let me do the front.” Not that he wanted to stop touching Geno’s ass. But he really wanted to get a good look at Geno’s cock.

Geno groaned and shifted to roll over. They did some awkward maneuvering that Sid belatedly realized could have been avoided if he had just stood up, but they worked it out in the end, and Sid sat on Geno’s thighs and stared.

Geno was hard: not half-hard, not thinking about it, but fully erect, like he might go off at a few firm strokes. He was a great size, thick enough to make Sid clench down in anticipation from the thought of taking that for a ride. Christ, Geno’s nipples were hard, too; he had been loving it, the whole time Sid was touching him.

Geno shaded his eyes with one hand to squint up at Sid. “You stare.”

“You’re hot,” Sid said. He couldn’t resist touching Geno’s cock. He skimmed his fingertips along the length of the shaft and felt it twitch in response. Geno was biting his lip now, like he was trying to hold back, or hold it in. Sid’s emotions swelled like a big wave nearing the shore. He bent down to cover Geno’s body with his own and kissed him.

Geno knocked Sid’s cap off his head and slid his hands into Sid’s hair. His mouth was open and wet and he kissed Sid with a lot of tongue and no hesitation, pushing his hips up into Sid’s. Sid was having a good time, but he was still at the groping and making out stage, and Geno seemed ready to _go_.

“Hey,” Sid said, pulling back to kiss Geno’s neck: damp, a little salty. “Are we really gonna have sex for the first time on this lounge chair?”

Geno laughed. “Yes, I think.”

Okay. God. Sid sat up and stripped out of his T-shirt. He felt Geno’s hands at his waistband, unbuttoning his shorts and tugging down the zipper. He dropped his shirt on the ground and looked down to see Geno’s big hands carefully taking Sid’s dick out of his underwear.

“Nice,” Geno said, grinning, and gave Sid a gentle squeeze that made Sid’s toes curl. Geno ran his thumb over the head of Sid’s dick and said something brief in Russian that sounded fond. “It’s nicer than I think.”

“You thought about my dick?” Sid said, pretty happy that Geno had been fantasizing about him. “My sub-par dick, huh.”

Geno rolled his eyes. “No, it’s like, I think it’s good, but now I know it’s best.” He slid his hand down to cup Sid’s balls. “Nice.”

“Okay,” Sid said, mollified. He bent to kiss Geno again, quick but dirty, and then he stood up to finish undressing. He glanced up when he stepped out of his underwear, and Geno was watching him, pushed up on one elbow and touching his own dick. Sid had spent a lot of time thinking about this and how it would happen and what they would do, how far they would go the first time, what Geno would be into. Now he just kind of wanted to watch Geno jerk off.

“Come here,” Geno said, spreading his legs invitingly. Sid went.

They were both a little sweaty, and alternately slid together and stuck as Sid settled into Geno’s arms. But God it was good to have Geno naked against him and groaning into his mouth as they kissed, squirming and trying to rub his cock against Sid’s belly. 

It was hot to have him so turned on and frantic. Sid wanted to make him come more than he’d ever wanted anything except maybe the Stanley Cup. He spread his legs a little and reached down to tuck Geno’s dick between his thighs, just to give Geno some pressure and friction, but Geno immediately moaned and grabbed Sid’s ass to drag their bodies closer together, flexing his hips to push his cock further into the tight space between Sid’s legs.

Sid closed his thighs around Geno’s cock and drew back far enough to see Geno’s face. Geno looked totally gone, face flushed, eyes closed, running his tongue over his lower lip as he humped up into Sid’s legs. “Hey,” Sid said, and Geno dragged his eyes open. “You wanna do it like this?”

“Huh?” Geno said, and then moaned again as Sid squeezed his thighs together gently. He clutched at Sid’s ass. “You—okay, like this.”

“Lemme, uh,” Sid said, feeling around on the ground for the sunblock, which had fallen overboard in all of their flailing around. He snagged it with his fingertips and sat up to apply a thorough coating to his inner thighs. The sunblock was slippery enough that he didn’t think Geno would have any problems.

He settled into place again, with Geno’s dick slotted between his thighs, nestled to one side of his balls. Geno immediately grabbed a double handful of Sid’s ass and worked his hips in a short grind, in and out, a greasy slide along Sid’s balls and his sensitive taint. It felt good, but Sid was mostly in it for Geno’s reaction, and Geno’s noisy, wordless appreciation was everything Sid wanted. He laid his head on Geno’s shoulder and smiled and closed his eyes.

Geno couldn’t move much with Sid lying on top of him, but it didn’t seem to matter, based on how he groaned with every flex of his hips. Sid could imagine how it felt: tight, warm, slick with sunblock and sweat. Better than the dry friction of his own cock trapped between their bodies, starting to ease a little as he leaked precome, but nothing that would get him off in short order. He had lube in his suitcase; they could go downstairs right now and shower off the sunblock and do anything they wanted. But he couldn’t imagine stopping now.

“Ah, Sid,” Geno muttered, restlessly humping Sid’s thighs. His hands gripped the lower curve of Sid’s ass, hitching him a little higher, his fingers digging in. “Sid, oh my God. Your ass, you so,” and then he went off into Russian, dirty-talking exclusively for his own benefit. The head of his cock dragged along Sid’s perineum, a blunt tease. His hips stuttered, and he made a frustrated noise. “Sid, I can’t—”

“Okay, here,” Sid said. He sat up. Geno’s hips thrust fruitlessly into mid-air, his cock drawn tight against his belly, the head peeking out of the foreskin. His eyes were so dark as he looked up at Sid. “Let’s—get up,” Sid said. “Let me lie down.”

With some awkward shuffling around, they swapped places. Sid lay on his back and drew his thighs toward his chest, with his hands hooked behind his knees to hold himself in position. “Okay. Like this.”

He thought Geno would get right to it, but instead Geno groaned and bent down to get up close and personal with Sid’s exposed taint. He nuzzled at Sid’s balls and pressed a wet kiss to the base of Sid’s sack, and another one to the bare stretch of his perineum, and a lush, open-mouthed kiss to Sid’s hole that shocked a moan out of him. Geno lingered there for a moment, sucking gently, making Sid squirm, before he sat up again and knee-walked into place.

“Too bad you didn’t put lube in that tote bag,” Sid said, because he was easy for it, and now he was thinking about how good it would feel for Geno to slick up and slide right in, so hard that his cockhead would hit all the right places. 

“You go get,” Geno said absently, his gaze down as he rubbed his cock along the cleft between Sid’s thighs. Sid rested his ankles on Geno’s shoulder and Geno held them balanced there with his free hand. His eyes darted up to meet Sid’s as he pushed his cock back between Sid’s legs. This was messier than any of Sid’s fantasies, sweatier and less coordinated, and so much better, because it was real: Geno with him, Geno watching him, Geno after so long.

They had it then: the right position, the right leverage. The lounge chair creaked beneath them as Geno set a hard, fast rhythm. Sid could squeeze his legs together to get a really tight fit and flex them to make Geno moan, and Geno did moan, and curse and sweat, and spout a lot of semi-coherent filth about how big Sid’s thighs were and how he was going to coat them with come. Sid watched hungrily, soaking up the look on his face and the open appreciation in the stroke of his hand down Sid’s thigh. Seeing Geno lose it like this was doing it for Sid in a big way.

He reached down to palm himself. He’d leaked a little sticky puddle onto his belly. Geno’s cockhead nudged at his balls with each stroke, and that felt really good, and the first stroke of his hand made him sigh. Geno could do whatever he wanted and spend as long he wanted doing it; Sid was going to get himself off.

“Fuck, Sid,” Geno said breathlessly as Sid started jerking himself in earnest. “It’s good? You feel good?”

Sid realized his eyes had slid shut. He opened them to smile up at Geno, squinting against the bright light. “Yeah, I’m gonna—I’m gonna come pretty soon. So if you’re holding out for me, you don’t need to.”

“Fuck, okay,” Geno said, and then swore again in Russian. He shut his eyes and visibly went for it, his brow furrowed, focusing on his orgasm. Sid closed his own eyes and did the same thing.

He knew when Geno was about to come because Geno’s rhythm changed and he got even louder. He shoved in hard and went still, and in another moment his come shot across Sid’s balls and the base of his cock and his lower abdomen, hot and wet, smearing along Sid’s dick with the next stroke of his hand.

He was too close to react, tensing up, getting ready to come. Dimly he heard Geno exhale hard, like a sigh of relief, and then Geno’s hands were pushing his thighs apart, spreading him open. “Let me see,” Geno said, and Sid dragged his eyes open to see Geno fixedly watching Sid’s hand on his cock.

“I’m gonna,” Sid said, feeling it build, and then it hit him and he arched his back, his thighs flexing inward against Geno’s grip, and came as Geno stared.

“It’s good,” Geno said, as Sid’s heart slowed. He lay on top of Sid, making Sid flinch a little as his oversensitive dick brushed against Geno’s stomach, and pressed gentle kisses all over his face, kissing his cheekbone and his temple and his jaw, and finally his mouth, slow and lingering. “Sid,” Geno whispered to him. “Oh, Sid. My Sid.”

“My Geno,” Sid said. His eyes watered from the tenderness in Geno’s touch and his words. He wrapped his arms around Geno and considered never letting go.

\+ + +

They went downstairs after a while to lean against each other in the shower and lazily soap each other and make out. Geno carefully washed the come out of Sid’s pubes. Sid cleaned the sunblock from Geno’s ass, spending longer than he really needed to dipping his soapy fingers into Geno’s cleft and stroking his hole, loving the way Geno circled his hips to get more. God, they were going to have so much fun together.

“You get sunburn,” Geno said to him, rubbing his thumb over Sid’s cheekbone. The look on his face was so unguarded it hurt to see. “We stay out too long.”

“I doubt it’s bad,” Sid said. He could feel the fondness in his own expression, the smile that kept creeping back. He leaned his head against Geno’s shoulder, a silent request that Geno answered by folding his arms around Sid’s back. Warm water ran over them both. “You know, when the season started, I really didn’t think it would end like this.”

“You think we threepeat,” Geno said. A gentle pressure against the top of Sid’s head was maybe a kiss.

“Well, sure, but I’m talking about you,” Sid said. “You started hitting on me. I was so surprised.”

Geno shrugged. “I just think, like. When you’re single again? Maybe never. So I have to try.”

“Glad you did,” Sid said. He squeezed Geno’s hip. “Glad you’re here. I’ll go to Miami with you and meet all of your Russians. I’ll hang out with Radulov. We can go do karaoke every night.”

“Oh, I like karaoke?” Geno said, laughing. He drew back and smiled down at Sid. “Yes, come to Miami. Come to Moscow. Be with me.”

“You got it,” Sid said.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from "Sunblock" by Emmet Swimming for anyone who remembers that song.


End file.
